


Defying Expectations

by die_Frau



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Book: Career of Evil, F/M, Post-Wedding, post-coe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-02-16 18:55:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13060083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_Frau/pseuds/die_Frau
Summary: A vase changes Robin's mind. She and Matthew have a conversation, and family bonds show strongly.





	1. I don't

**Author's Note:**

> Takes up immediately where CoE leaves off. This has been rolling around in my mind for a while now, and I think I know where it's going, but I'm not entirely sure. If you see any errors, please let me know! Britpics welcome as always.
> 
> The quote from Robin's father comes from Sleepless in Seattle, BTW.
> 
> Not sure when I can get the next chapter up, but I do have a break coming, so we'll see. But definitely not right away.

Matthew looked at Robin's brilliant smile and muttered, "Honorable bastard can't keep his word for two bloody days." 

Robin's smile slid off her face and she turned to face him. "What do you mean, 'two days'? What happened two days ago?" Matthew's expression reminder her of the night he'd admitted to sleeping with Sarah Shadlock, ranging from anger to mutinous to guilty. Robin looked at him, brow furrowed. She turned to the vicar and her parents, saying, "I'm so sorry, please give us a minute," and pulled Matt into the side choir room for privacy as the congregation gaped at their sudden departure. Strike stood in the back, frozen in indecision. Should be leave? Did he cause this? But Robin's declaration, the way she beamed at _him_.... His heart gave a treacherous leap as he waited with everyone else.

Meanwhile, Robin and Matthew looked at each other in a dark parody of marital bliss.

"Matt, two days ago we were headed to Masham. Did Cormoran..." She trailed off, realization dawning as her mouth dropped open slightly. Matthew remained stubbornly silent.

"You said your battery died, that you had to use my phone to speak to your dad about the honeymoon," she said slowly, her voice tinged with scorn and disbelief. "Did he call while I was inside? And remember, we _are_  in a church," she shot at him as he opened his mouth to finally speak.

"Yes, he called, all right? He wanted you back at that pathetic excuse for a job. Said if he didn't hear from you, he'd know that was it, and yet here he is, knocking over flowers and looking like some extra from a disaster film to ruin _our_ wedding, putting himself where he isn't wanted...." His words ran together in his fury as his fists clenched at his side.

" _I_  wanted him there, Matt. More to the point, how could you deceive me like that? You lied to get my passcode and -- what-- delete the message?"

"He's put a wedge between us ever since you started working with him, Robin," Matthew retorted angrily. "We were happy, you and me, before Strike came into our lives."

"No, Matt, working at that job has helped me be who I am, who I've always wanted to be. You know that; we've talked about it. This is something I've wanted to do since I was a little girl--"

"And almost getting killed didn't get it out of your system and show you that it's just not safe?"

Robin took a deep breath to calm down, also reminding herself where she was. She looked at Matthew, handsome, strong, stable Matthew. If she chose to go through with this, what would she have to give up? Were the trade-offs enough to make a life? And did she really want to be with him, or.... All of these questions flashed through her mind and she had her answer.

"Matt...this isn't going to work. We both know it," she said sadly but firmly.

He looked at her, astonished. "Are you joking right now? It's our bloody wedding day! All our friends and family are out there, waiting for us. I love you--I do, Robin."

"But we're never going to be able to trust each other. I'm not giving up detective work because it's not what's expected of me. And you're always going to check my phone, and I'll always wonder if you have." 

"That wouldn't happen if you had a regular job and not just _you_  and _him_  together all the time--"

She shook her head. In this moment, these truths stood out more strongly than any other feelings she might have. "You'd find someone at the office that you thought looked at me too long or got too friendly. I'm always going to want to be some sort of detective. It's something I love, it's who I am. And you're never going to be happy with that. You want someone who has a job like yours, something safe, something proper and normal, and I'm not a Human Resources kind of woman. I thought I could be who you wanted, but I can't. I don't want to be."

"Oh, and with Strike you can 'be yourself'?" he sneered.

"Yes," she said simply.

"So you're choosing him," he stated flatly.

"No, I'm choosing me." And with that, she took off her sparkling sapphire from her right hand and handed it to him. He reached for it automatically, then looked down at his hand as if wondering how it had gotten there. 

As if on cue they heard a knock at the door. "Robin? Matt? What on earth are you doing in there?" came Linda's voice, filled with equal parts motherly concern and censure. Robin opened the door to find her mother standing there, everything about her demanding answers. She took a deep breath, took her mother's hands, and said, "Mum, I'm sorry, but I can't do this. I won't go into a marriage where we don't trust each other," she repeated, looking into her mother's eyes and silently asking her to understand. Linda looked back, taking in her daughter's calm, resolute face and nodded.

Squeezing Robin's hands gently, she replied, "All right. We'll take care of it. But I think you need to tell everyone." Robin, knowing just where she had inherited her firm will from, nodded back. 

"All right, Mum. Thank you...for everything. I'm so sorry--"

"Just get yourself settled and call me as soon as you can," said Linda. "We'll figure out the rest."

Matthew, meanwhile, stood watching their conversation in utter shock. "Linda, what the hell do you mean, 'We'll figure it out'? Your daughter is about to make a complete mess of her life! Can't you talk some sense into her? I certainly can't." He looked at Robin with sudden loathing. "Y'know, maybe I dodged a bullet after all. If this is how you're going to act _now,_ I can only imagine--"

"That's enough, Matt," said another male voice, and Robin's father appeared in the doorway looking thunderous in his wedding attire. "Let's end this with a bit of dignity all around. We may be in a church, but say one more word against my daughter, and I'll drag you outside and kick your arse properly myself." Matthew drew himself up and, seeing he was outnumbered, stalked out the side door of the choir room. Robin turned grateful eyes on her father, tears filling them.

"Dad, I don't know what to say."

"Sweetheart, to quote one of your mother's favorite movies, 'Marriage is hard enough without bringing such low expectations into it.' You've put on a good show for everyone, including yourself, but this isn't what you wanted. All I want for you is to be happy. Would you have been happy married to Matthew, honestly?" he asked.

Robin took a deep breath and let it out with a gusty sigh. "No."

"Then there's your answer. Listen to your mother: Go get settled and call us." He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her head, making her feel warm and loved, reminding her of when he used to kiss her small hurts as a child to make them better. She walked back out into the church with her parents close behind.

The congregation fell silent as they saw her, alone, at the top of the aisle. Strike, who had begun to walk out far more quietly than he'd managed to enter, turned at the back of the church when he heard her voice.

"I'm so sorry, everyone, but...the wedding is off," she said loudly enough for him to hear it in the back. Mercifully, she turned and walked a side exit rather than walking back down the aisle, and everyone began to clamor as Matthew's father and sister rushed toward the vestry to look for Matthew and the Ellacotts attempted to bring some sense of order as the bewildered vicar looked on. 


	2. Pictures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the previous chapter. More moving things along than anything else, but I plan to work in a little romance soon.

Strike came out of the back of the church and saw Robin standing just beyond the side door, caught in a moment of indecision as to her next move. She caught sight of him and smiled, and his heart leapt just as it had when she'd looked at him moments or eons agoand uttered two simple words. He hurried toward her.

"Robin! What's going on? Are you all right?"

"Can you get me out of here?" she replied, and her steady eyes and urgent voice tugged at Strike's heart. If ever there was a way to make up for everything he'd put her through in the last few weeks, this could be it.

He extended his hand to her and simply said, "Let's go." Robin took his offered hand and felt that she'd crossed a border that she could not go back from, that by leaving with Strike she had broken irrevocably from Matthew and all that a life as Mrs. Cunliffe entailed. She found the thought both soothed and thrilled her.

As they approached the car, Shanker, slouching against the driver's side door, looked up from his mobile and grinned at the sight.

"Looks like I'm drivin' the getaway car after all, eh, Bunsen?" Strike shot him a mildly exasperated glance but couldn't help the one side of his mouth that tugged up. He truly hadn't come to the wedding to stop it, but he certainly didn't feel sorry that it had. Robin looked quickly toward Strike at Shanker's words, her mouth dropping open slightly. 

"I only came as a guest," he said quietly. "I feel fucking awful for knocking over that vase, but if it helped you figure something out, then I s'pose it was lucky I'm such a clumsy bugger."

She nodded, understanding his motives and in silent agreement; had he not made such a blunder, she might have made a much larger one that she would have had to live with for her entire life. 

In an act of exaggerated gallantry, Shanker opened the back door for Robin with a flourish. "Awright, babes? Shanker's Taxi Service'll take ya where ya need t'go." 

"I suppose I should go back to my house; can't go back to London in my wedding dress," she replied, and slid into the backseat. Shanker closed her door and the slam of it made her feel once again the finality of her decision. 

As they pulled up in front of the Ellacotts' house, Robin leaned forward to Strike in the front seat. "I'm just going to go in and change clothes and gather my things." She paused. "Would you come with me? I might need some help." Strike could hear the uncertainty in her voice; they really hadn't spoken since he'd last left her apartment, and his final two words to her still hung between them. 

"'Course," he responded, and followed her out of the car and into the house. Inside, Strike reflected that it looked just as he'd imagined: homey and clean, spacious yet cluttered with the minutiae that large families seem to acquire without realizing it: Multiple coats for varying weather hung on pegs in the back hall where they came in, along with an assorted collection of slightly battered Wellingtons on mats below. The kitchen held a pleasant, lingering smell of the morning's breakfast of coffee, sausage, eggs, and toast, and clearly labeled white ceramic jars held flour and other spices on the counter, along with a large, brightly colored nested set of bowls that hadn't yet been put away in the rush of the morning. A family calendar hung on one wall filled in with various appointments, and he couldn't help a small wince at seeing "ROBIN AND MATT'S WEDDING!" in huge letters on today's date.

Robin turned to Strike and said, "I'll be just a few minutes upstairs. Help yourself to anything in the fridge or in the cupboards. We've got tons of food because..." and she trailed off awkwardly, reminding them both of the many relatives who had come in for the happy occasion. 

"I'll just...I'll be quick," she finally repeated, and Strike nodded.

"No rush," he assured her, and she went upstairs, looping the train of her dress absently around one hand so as not to trip on it. Strike, left alone, helped himself to some of the Ellacotts' leftovers and listened to Robin as she moved around upstairs. Making his way into the hall between the kitchen and the living room, he stopped to look at the display of family pictures, chronicling Robin's family over the years. He grinned as he looked at an old school picture of Robin at around ten, teeth not quite fully grown in, the sides of her red-gold hair put in bunches. Another had her at the beach as a teenager, held horizontally by her brothers, all of them fresh out of the water in their swimsuits. He scanned the happy photos of family trips, wrestling with Rowntree, holiday poses and felt a twinge of jealousy for never having had anything remotely like that growing up in the squats he had lived in with his mother, Lucy -- and Whittaker, he remembered grimly.

But the thought suddenly struck him that he was in the Ellacott home in the first place because Robin had just walked out on her own wedding, had forsaken the safe, comfortable, predictable life with the boy next door. She had chosen to stay with Matthew in the first place because of a terrible act by a stranger that violated her in every possible way, setting her back years in going after what she truly wanted in life. She may have had a much more stable childhood, realized Strike, but it didn't keep her safe from the vagaries of life that nobody could control. She could only control her response to them, and she had also chosen to stick with a job she loved despite the tenuousness of it all. She took self-defense courses so she would never feel so vulnerable again, skills that saved her life when another attacker tried to do her harm. Looking at all of the Ellacott family photos, Strike realized anew just how strong and resilient Robin was, and his admiration--and other feelings that had brought him to Masham in the first place, he silently admitted to himself--for her expanded in his chest like a flower in sunlight. As he processed these new revelations, he heard Robin's voice from upstairs.

"Erm...Cormoran? Could you please come up and help me with something?" Strike wondered at the hesitancy in her voice; concerned, he clumped his way up the stairs. "I'm in the second room on the right," her voice drifted toward him. Following, he walked into what was unmistakably Robin's childhood bedroom and saw her standing in the middle of it, still in her wedding dress and wearing a frustrated, sheepish look.

"I, um, I can't get this dress unzipped by myself," she admitted with a grimace. "Could you help me get it the rest of the way down?" Cormoran reddened at the thought of helping Robin undress, primarily because he had had that very thought cross his treacherous mind a few times, although he quickly banished it every time. He noticed her own cheeks suffused with a blush, which ironically put him more at ease; she felt just as awkward about this as he did.

Considering she'd had enough to deal with already that day, he managed a mild response, "All right, turn around then." Robin obliged, and Strike saw she'd gotten it partway down but hadn't been able to finish the job. Seeing her smooth, lightly freckled back rising from the expanse of white made his heart beat faster, but he steadied his hands and pulled down the zipper until it reached her waist, trying not to notice the lacy strapless bra she had on as well. 

"That enough?" he asked, his voice gruffer than he'd intended. 

"Yes, thanks," she said quickly. "I'm all set, should be down soon." Strike took this as his cue to leave, and he hastily turned to head back downstairs, the image of her partially undressed branded into his mind and replaying over and over again. The fact that his fingers had brushed against her and discovered her skin was as soft as he'd imagined didn't help.

"I'll be outside with Shanker. If you need help with your bags, let me know." _Christ, I need a fag_ , he thought. He went down the stairs as quickly as his leg would allow and out to the car. Robin shrugged out of her dress and placed it gently across her bed; she knew she should hang it up but somehow felt the need to give it less importance than she had that morning. Although, she confessed to herself, the whole ritual of getting ready for the wedding had been tinged with desperation to simply get through it, her responses to her mother and Matthew's sister Kimberley slightly mechanical and automatic. Looking at the dress once more, she felt an array of emotions from sadness to anger to sheer relief run through her. 

"Focus, one thing at a time," she muttered to herself. Fortunately her mother had done laundry the night before and neatly piled Robin's folded clothes on her dresser, so she threw on a skirt, t-shirt, and sandals and stuffed everything back into her holdall. After scanning the bathroom for toiletries, she went back into her room for one final look. Her glance fell on the suitcase Matt had packed for their surprise honeymoon in one corner. Pausing, she reached out slowly and then dropped her hand. Leaving it untouched, she closed the door behind her, and made her way to Shanker and Strike, the latter dropping his cigarette and putting it out as he saw her coming. He wasn't sure how he'd expected her Robin to look, but she turned her unwavering blue-gray gaze on him, and he once again saw how a few framed family photos didn't begin to show the measure of her true strength of character. 

"Ready to go, then, Rob?" asked Shanker with his crooked grin, and Robin couldn't help smiling back. 

"You've saved me once again, Shanker," she replied quietly to him as she stuffed her bag in the back, acknowledging his help with Brockbank, the situation which had caused the entire rift between her and Strike in the first place. Strike overheard but said nothing. As they pulled away, both he and Robin realized again that they hadn't truly spoken since that terrible day, and that they now had a good four hours to either ignore it or figure out just where they stood with each other. Now that the first excitement had passed and they were headed back to London, Robin suddenly felt a great wave of exhaustion engulf her.

As Strike turned around in the passenger seat, before he could open his mouth, she said, "Look, I know we have a lot to discuss with everything that's happened, but I'm absolutely knackered. D'you mind if I get a bit of a nap in first?"

Strike, running on fumes himself, nodded in agreement. "I could use some sleep, too," he admitted, and as her eyes began to close, Robin finally focused on the fact that he appeared far more battered than usual and wondered why he looked like he'd gotten into a car accident. She'd have to ask when she woke up....


	3. Driving back to London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long: Life intervened, and I just got stuck for a while. Still not entirely happy with it, but I thought I had to get it out before Lethal White arrives (YAY!). As always, suggestions and corrections welcome. 
> 
> This just involves the car ride back to London, mostly a discussion and a truce, with a dash of Shanker thrown in.

The thud of the car hitting a large pothole and Shanker's loud shout of "Fuck me!" jolted both Robin and Strike out of their exhausted sleep simultaneously. Taking a deep sniff as she awoke, Robin stretched as much as she could, inwardly smiling to see Strike doing the same. 

"How long've we been out, Shanker?" asked Strike, rubbing a hand gingerly down his face as he passed over his newly broken nose. 

"'Bout an hour, hour 'narf," Shanker replied. "You snore like a fuckin' lorry tryna go up a steep hill, Bunsen." 

"Yeah, well, the nose doesn't help," retorted Strike, frowning.

"What  _did_  happen to your nose? Wait...was it Laing?" asked Robin as she saw Strike's grim expression. 

"You dinnear about it? It was all over the news this morning!" exclaimed Shanker. 

"Well, I've been avoiding the news a bit these last few days, what with the wedding and..." Robin trailed off, not wanting to recount the days of anger, bitterness, and desolation that she had fought against as she had rallied to prepare for the wedding and a life without...without working as a detective anymore.

"Me 'n Bunsen took the fucker down, Rob, although I did my part in the dark...gotta keep a low profile 'nall," replied Shanker, turning his head slightly to grin at her. Strike sighed and smiled.

"I wouldn't have been able to carry it off without him--and Alyssa," he admitted. Robin's eyebrows shot up and she looked at Strike, astonished. He proceeded to tell her what had happened with Laing, Shanker helpfully adding the more lurid details, which Strike either confirmed or corrected with affectionate irritation. Robin drank in every bit greedily, simultaneously jealous that she hadn't been able to play her part in the takedown and impressedby Strike's ingenuity. For his part, Strike had to admit to himself that he felt an enormous release in opening up to Robin about everything that had happened. He had missed being able to talk things over with her, get her take on ideas, and, frankly, see the admiration in her eyes when he'd thought of a particularly well-executed plan. 

As Strike wrapped up, Robin looked at him closely, sizing up his swollen nose and the state of his best suit. 

"When was the last time you had that cleaned?" she teased, observing some of the stains from the night before and the wrinkles that hadn't quite come out. To her surprise, Strike reddened as he tugged at his shirt collar and looked down at the stains he'd unsuccessfully tried to scrub out.

"Yeah...I, uh, took that call from Carver about...about you going to Brockbank's when I was at dinner and...I had a strong reaction. Nearly knocked the table over," he admitted. Robin's smile virtually fell off her face. They both knew they'd have to deal with this conversation at some point.

"I want you to know," Robin said slowly, "that I didn't call you back because I never got the message. Matthew had my phone when you called and he deleted it." She took a deep breath and let it out. "And I've looked at my phone--he also blocked your number. It's why I broke things off--I couldn't start a marriage based on lies and mistrust. We couldn't...we couldn't go back from that." She looked down at her hands. "Well, it wasn't only that. It made me realize we could never trust each other, and we hadn't for a long time. And I've come too far to drop everything and just become Mrs. Cunliffe to his Mr." Her red-gold head lifted in defiance, daring anyone to contradict her.

_What a total dickhead_ , thought Strike. Out loud he replied, "I'm glad we got that sorted. I was worried my showing up at the wedding after you didn't call back would make it worse, make you feel like I ignored what you wanted." Now it was his turn to take a breath. "And...I shouldn't have sacked you like that. I know you had your heart in the right place, and you saved those kids."

"Don't forget about me, Rob, I fuckin' saved the day!" piped up Shanker, turning to Robin and narrowly missing sideswiping a car in the next lane. Strike cursed and Robin clutched at the strap of her seatbelt, simultaneously rolling her eyes and smiling at Shanker. She turned back to Strike.

"I saw you'd advertised for a replacement in the paper," she said quietly, her voice filled with hurt. 

"I had to do that to lure Laing in," he replied. "I figured he couldn't resist trying to bring me down again. The rest...." He sighed deeply. "I had to cover my bases," he said carefully. 

"But you could've called, you could have..." Robin trailed off, realizing he had done just that. A heavy pause lay between the two of them. "Can we...can we try to get past this, Cormoran? I feel like we've been through too much together to throw away a pretty good partnership." Her eyes held his.

"A damn good partnership," he corrected firmly. "But no more playing the savior at the expense of the business...unless we discuss it first." Robin considered this and nodded in agreement.

"That's fair. And no more treating me like a glass ornament you need to keep on a high shelf." Strike wanted to point out that he was simply trying to protect her, but he didn't want to admit to all the reasons for this, either to her or himself.

"How about we look out for each other and keep pointing out when the other is acting like an idiot?" he offered, tacitly accepting his own fault.

"I can live with that," Robin responded a bit shakily. "So...we're going to make a go of this? I'd expect a few more clients once this gets out, and you know you'll need help with the paperwork," she said cheekily.

"I'll need help with everything," Strike replied on a gusty sigh. "You were right before--trying to do everything alone had me running myself into the fucking ground. It just didn't work as well without you," he confessed. 

Robin smiled again. "OK, then, once I get myself settled, we'll start fresh." But her initial excitement fizzled as if someone had thrown a bucket of water on a campfire. "Oh my God, where will I go? I can't stay at my flat, I have nowhere to go...what am I going to do?" Strike heard the slightly hysterical note in her voice and it tore at him. Calm and collected when it came to helping others, resourceful to a fault, Robin now needed the kind of help she so often gave to them. He wanted to reach out, to reassure her, but he knew she had the same streak of pride that ran through him. He thought quickly and came up with a solution that would simultaneously spare her feelings, give her a place to land, and keep her close to... _London...close to work_ , he finished in his head firmly.

"Look, Nick and Ilsa have a spare room, you know that. I stayed there for a bit when the journos were harassing us before," he pointed out. "I'm sure you can stay there for a while until you find a place." To his frustration, Robin immediately began to shake her head. Ignoring her protests, he quickly pulled out his phone to dial Nick.

Robin sat tensely in the back, part of her wanting to snatch the phone out of Strike's hand and the other infinitely grateful that she wouldn't have to stay in a hostel with all her worldly possessions surrounded by backpacking college students on cross-European jaunts, wondering whether she'd wake up the next morning to find half of her things gone. She sat looking out the window as the miles passed by, only half-listening to Strike's conversation.

"Cheers, mate," he said, ending the call with a satisfied air. "All right, that's you sorted. Nick and Ilsa are more than happy to let you stay with them until you get settled."

"That's too much," protested Robin. "I at least should pay them some sort of rent."

"I knew you'd say that, and Nick and I agreed that you can pay for the occasional dinner out for him and Ilsa and pick up his bar tab," he responded, grinning. Robin couldn't help a small smile in return, and Strike felt relief at seeing some of the tension drain from her face. But she suddenly looked stricken again.

"I need to find somewhere to stay tonight...I can't stay in our--not even tonight," she said, shuddering. "I suppose I'll have to find a Travelodge," and she began to pull out her phone.

"Or you could stay at my flat," Strike offered, and could have bitten his own tongue in his stupidity. Robin's eyebrows shot up in surprise, although, he noticed, not dismay. Before she could say anything, Shanker piped up from the driver's seat. 

"Go on, then, Rob. No point in payin' f'r a room when Bunsen's got a place that don't cost nothing." Any other day, Robin would have argued, but the stress of the day and her momentous decision left her too tired to attempt it. And if she was being honest with herself, she didn't want to be alone with her thoughts tonight. 

"All right, but just for tonight, and you're taking the bed," she said in a no-nonsense voice that Strike knew better than to argue with.


	4. (Strange) Bedfellows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some realizations and a discussion of sleeping arrangements
> 
> I really didn't look this over well, so if you see any major errors, please let me know. Trying to get this to some sort of conclusion before we all take a hiatus in 15 days to READ!

As they walked up the stairs, Robin paused at the landing of the office, looking at the locked door.

"Everything ok?" asked Strike.

"It's...I thought I'd never get to come back here," replied Robin softly. "And I just realized that that hurt almost worse than anything else, even...even what happened to me back in uni." Strike winced and Robin quickly said, "I didn't mean that to reflect on you, honestly. If I'd gone through with the wedding, Matt would've found a way to put his foot down by exercising his husbandly rights," she added with a flash of sarcasm.

"I think you'd have given him a run for his money," Strike replied. He paused. "That thought crossed my mind, too. It would've been hard, going back to work without you. Hell, this last week  _was_  hard. Alyssa was a great bit of bait for Laing, but complete shit at everything else," he admitted. 

They looked at the door again for a moment and Robin suddenly shook her head as if dispelling bad thoughts. "Well, we worked that one out, didn't we?" She smiled hopefully at him and he returned it.

"Let's get you situated upstairs and order some food. The last time I ate was...Christ, a Snickers this morning," said Strike, heading for the stairs. Robin noticed his pronounced limp, remembering he'd also been in a serious fight just days before and quickly followed him to his small flat.

After they had picked up their take-away Chinese (which Robin insisted on paying and picking up, ignoring Strike's grumbles), they sat down to eat, Strike in his armchair and Robin sitting on the bed.

She was, he suddenly thought, the first woman he'd ever had spend the night...and these circumstances were anything but romantic. "So...a little dinner and telly?" asked Strike, trying to lighten the tension of having Robin staying over.

"Sure, whatever you want to watch," she replied.

"Ah, that's all right, no good football on tonight."

"I'm sure there's rugby on," Robin insisted. Strike frowned and wondered how many times she'd had to watch whatever that arsehole Matthew wanted. And for the thousandth time he wondered how much Matthew had taken her for granted, had simply ignored her wants to create the perfect couple as he saw it.

"Jesus, Robin, what did he do to you?" he suddenly demanded, his voice rough with anger and concern. Robin looked defensively at Strike, opening her mouth to deny that Matthew had abused her and Strike quickly held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and stop. He chose his next words carefully, not wanting Robin to think he saw her as a victim yet realizing she'd never truly seen what Matthew had done to her because she hadn't known any other way.

"I mean," he said gently, "if you want to watch a show, say so. We don't have to watch what I want to, even if I don't like what you choose. We can find a compromise, or I'll read while you watch. And if you want to see every damned episode of--" he waved his hand in the air, searching for inspiration--" _Sex in the City_ , that's what we'll do. You have a choice, too." 

His last words hit Robin like a train. Strike could see the dawning realization on her face that she had, in fact, given up many choices to Matthew's preferences for years, quietly acquiescing and giving up her own desires to make him happy. After a while, the anger she felt had given way to annoyance and finally become second-nature. It was something she'had begun to recognize more and more in recent years--since she'd started working for Strike and bringing one of her dearest and most hidden ambitions to life.  _She had a choice, too._  Lots of them. She had made another enormous one today, and she could make as many as she liked. Hearing the words spoken aloud brought it into firm reality, and she suddenly beamed the first true smile at Strike that he'd seen from her in a long, long time. The sheer radiance of it made his heart accelerate and his breath catch slightly. She had never looked more beautiful to him.

Suddenly her smile turned mischievous and she corrected, "It's actually  _Sex **and**  the_  _City_. But I'm surprised you knew it at all."

He grinned back at her. "Lucy liked it when it was on, caught it whenever Greg worked late and raved about it." His face turned serious. "I'll watch whatever you'd like."

"Honestly, I'd just love to find something low-key, something funny. I could use a few mindless laughs for an hour." Without further ado, Strike tossed Robin the remote.

"You're in charge," and she rewarded him with another genuine smile. 

They found reruns of  _Friends_  and watched two, chuckling at plots they both knew already. As the credits rolled, Strike turned to Robin to ask whether she'd like to watch one more and caught her head nodding drowsily. 

"Robin," he said softly, "Go to sleep." 

Her head bobbed up and she got up from the bed, slightly embarrassed. "I'll just brush my teeth and put my pajamas on then, if you don't mind." He gestured to his small bathroom and went about the process of taking off his leg and getting himself ready for his camp bed, which he'd stowed out on the landing. It wasn't ideal, but he'd slept in worse conditions...although possibly none more uncomfortable in other ways he tried to shove down in his head. Robin came out a few minutes later in a tank top and shorts pajamas, he guessed: Charlotte had usually worn some kind of lacy chemise or nothing at all, depending on her mood and whether she wanted something. Robin shouldn't have looked good to him, yet the sheer simplicity of her clothes stirred something in him. He deliberately dug his fingers into the cut on his right hand to bring about a little pain and sanity. 

"All right, you take the bed and I'll pull out the camp bed," Strike said, about to say goodnight when Robin cleared her throat and looked down at the floor, flushing deeply.

"Cormoran," she said hesitantly, "I...would you mind just...sitting on the bed while I fall asleep? I don't mind if you read or watch telly or...I just don't want to be by myself." She looked up defiantly. "And I hate that I feel that way, but I do. It feels like such a cliche," she muttered. Strike, on the point of refusing, saw what it had taken for her to ask for his help. That, combined with the stress of the last few weeks and the very fact that Robin was here, with him, and not on her honeymoon broke through his defenses.

"I can do that," he replied quietly and she gave him a look of gratitude. She pulled back the duvet on his neatly made bed and scrambled under, settling herself into the pillows as Strike maneuvered himself to the bed with a stick, pulling himself next to Robin. 

"I don't mind if you're under the duvet if it's more comfortable," she murmured, already half asleep. He hesitated again and then thought,  _Fuck it. Nothing's going to happen anyway, stupid bastard,_  and slid his legs under, careful to maintain distance from Robin's soft form next to him. 

"G'night, Cormoran," she sighed, burrowing into the covers.

"Night, Robin," he said in a low voice, not wanting to disturb her. He pulled  _The Alienist_  from his bedside table and managed to read a few pages before abandoning it and looking at the sleeping woman beside him. The whole situation, while awkward as hell, felt oddly domestic and  _just right_ , his treacherous mind thought. Exhaustion suddenly overtook him and before he knew it, he had fallen as soundly asleep as Robin.

 *          *            *

Strike woke to the call of nature, but he quickly pushed it aside when felt the warmth of Robin's body pressed against his. They were lying on their sides, his big body curled protectively around hers and his arm holding her gently captive, the other pinned under the pillow they both shared. He could feel the slow, measured rise and fall of her breathing as he inhaled her scent: a combination of conditioner, the faint aroma of her perfume and something uniquely Robin. For a few minutes he savored the sensation of lying together, keeping her nestled closely to him, allowing his mind to wander and enjoying the feel of her hair tickling his neck. Then an ugly thought abruptly intruded:  _She probably thinks I'm Matthew. Jesus, Strike, you're a silly fucker for even letting it cross your mind._  As he began to remove his arm from her body, she shifted and grabbed his hand, bringing it to her chest as a child does with a treasured stuffed animal.

"Corm'r'n..." Robin murmured, snuggling into his broad chest and sighing into deeper sleep. Strike's heart stopped for a moment and then began beating so hard he thought it might wake her. Had he heard that correctly? So did she...she might...could they....

But now reality called again, and he realized he had to get up or risk embarrassing the hell out of both of them. Successfully extracting himself this time, he managed to pull away without waking Robin, who shifted her attention to the pillow, wrapping her arms around it and muttering some more. As he grabbed the stick leaning against his bedside table, he maneuvered to the bathroom, wondering how he should handle things when she woke up. She had literally just left her fiance. And while Strike and Robin had come to a sort of mutual truce, he didn't want anything to break it or muddy the waters. While he washed his hands (just barely remembering to put the seat down, as he'd never had cause to do so in his flat before), he made the decision to stay quiet about his new discovery, partly because he had no idea what it meant and partly because he wanted to keep the memory to himself for a while, a sweet secret borne of a wish that he barely let himself admit to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book mentioned, The Alienist, is by Caleb Carr. If you like historical fiction, check it out. It's set in New York City in the early 1900s. Great mystery story.


End file.
